Old Skool
by Malimillions
Summary: Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail and Prongs vs. Serverus Snape, Quirrol, Lucius Malfoy, Igor Karkeroff & Lily Evans Things are -bound- to get ugly. Lily's bi, and James's not quite human. AU, m-preg & Slytherin!Lily Evans. Completely re-hauled
1. Overview' or 'Her Beloved'

Her beloved....

She hated the word 'love'. 'To love', as a verb, was something that she didn't do well. And she also didn't do it too often, either.

Perhaps it was because the way she lived kept only to few close to her, and the rest of the world at a safe distance. People who were not deemed worthy of her attention were to be tolerated, or ignored. Most of the world she just _barely_ tolerated in the way one had to tolerate their bills instead of tossing them in the waste bucket or burning them with glee in their backyards, Lily barely tolerated most people.

Maybe it was the fact that she operated best when keeping most people as far away from her as possible, and if they annoyed her and didn't keep their distance, they became enemies that were there for her to hate and scorn, to loathe and (eventually) destroy. She existed in her day-to-day life by operating behind a thick shell of scorn and solitude-- she was not the most lovable of people and sure as hell was not a socialite by a long shot.

Perhaps it was because she'd been told that she looked positively 'divine' when she wore an expression of hellish fury often enough that she'd begun to believe it. She'd even suited her temperament around the fact in hopes she'd look her best if she _was_ angry most of the time, even if it required her to be hopping mad most of her life. When dueling, she operated best in a state of livid, analytic fury that would lash out at unpredictable moments that made her a powerful foe in battle. And since she got into so many duels at school that would break out unexpectedly in the school halls, the younger year students would still cower and shy away from her _months_ after witnessing her fighting, she was sure she'd done her job at being angry all the time pretty well.

And she liked doing that, she thought with a rather perverse twist to her lips in an outrageous resemblance of a smirk. She _liked_ keeping them all away from her

The few she people that she _did_ tolerate, however, had an annoying habit of transgressing into an even higher, more selective realm in her mind--- They would rapidly start crossing into the lines of the few people that she adored.

These people were rare, and far and few between. Perhaps other, more _normal_ people had a much larger spectrum of people filling this description or held a much bigger place for more people in their heart, but Lily Evans wasn't one of them.

Oddly, while being wholly selective about those she associated with or liked or talked to, she would then choose from that number whom she had decided to respect as well.

But above all, she fiercely hated most people; she barely spoke to her old muggle schoolmates at best and loathed and plotted the destruction of Dumbledore and most of the Griffindor professors and staff at worst. Albus Dumbledore, or 'Prof. of Transfiguration and resident sheep - shagger', M. Magonagall, Transfiguration teaching assistant was simply referred to as the "witch". These were just a few of the epithets she snarled about them to her joking, smirking comrades in the Slytherin House. It all wasn't exactly _mature_, sure, but it was _fun_.

The 'witch' insult was really particular since the truth of the matter was that Magonagall really _was_ a witch, but not the type set that Evans was referring to. Lily Evans, being a self-titled "through-bred mudblood", and a young witch herself (though she claimed that she didn't like being called that) meant the type of witch that were ugly, covered in boils, had long, twisted noses and green skin, and lived in moving houses on top of chicken's feet and ate little children.

Lily herself had been called a witch only twice in her life; the first time was on the playground of her primary school by her best friends who had both decided they didn't want to _be_ her friends anymore. Probably because she was "strange", and always managed to have strange, disasterous "incidents" that just _happened_ to occur when she was around. The second was by her own sister, Petunia. Petunia was older and wiser than Lily, (and in Lily's opinion, far prettier), and lead a perfectly normal life. Strictly speaking, Petunia was the better of the two sisters, _and_ was the perfect daughter. They couldn't have been more different… especially when Petunia took great delight in reminding Lily constantly of this by calling her sister a witch as often as she could. But that was another story.

And though she would have never used the term aloud, she loved only three living people.

Curiously, they all shared similar characteristics; all of them had raven black hair which contrasted sharply against their fair skin. They were all highly educated and incredibly skilled in magic, be it from the 'good' side of the magical spectrum or not. They were all men from unhappy homes but stood tall and all of them held high prestige in wizarding society, and all three, curiously, were quite brilliant.

Serverus Snape was her constant companion during the Hogwarts school year. Her best friend and confident, in fact. He was her first friend and her last.

She had first met him at the Slytherin house table after being sorted. Having spent the better part of the train ride to the Hogwarts castle locked in the dustbin by some older (and far stronger) witches and wizards who'd thought she looked 'funny' ….. promptly took all her pocket change (three quid, a dust mite and a pack of chewing gum), and stuffed her in the nearest rubbish bin. It was a rather miserable train ride after that.

Serverus, however, was calm, well read and sharp tongued. Having had his sleek black locks turned magenta by a smarmy group of Griffindors boys on an equally unpleasant train ride there, he was tolerant, even friendly to the fact that she had been dripping banana peels and candy wrappers ever since she'd first arrived to the Great Hall.

Immediately struck by his quick wit, resourcefulness and steely resolve, she imagined him as a young, wizarding version of Oscar Wilde, and had stuck fast by his side ever since. Given his vampirish good looks, similarly spiteful attitude towards those he disliked and prestigious knowledge of the Dark Arts, not to mention being incredibly skilled in potions, it was a wonder why they never bridged the thin line between close friends to lovers while still at Hogwarts.

Tom M. Riddle, however, was an entirely different story.

He was a dangerously charming, cunning and handsome man that she had happened to meet by chance in Knock Turn Alley by literally running right into him when she wasn't paying enough attention to where she was going. It turned out that they shared a lot a lot of ideas, but that didn't mean that they got along. It was not so much that it was a clash of ideals, really, but more of a clash of wills. He was manipulative, ingenious and powerful, while she was dexterous, independent and destructive.

The tension that existed between Tom Riddle and Lily Evans was fierce, corrosive and almost sexual in nature. He was a natural; a spiteful orphan of a martyred pureblood mother and some prick muggle father whose very existence marked him a bastard half blood. He had been cast into a solitary existence as a child in a muggle orphanage; where he had spent much of his youth, unhappy and neglected. Resentment stemmed from misery. Strength spawned from hate, and power replaced, but did not conceal, pain.

And his was marvelous. Eyes of sharp crimson orbs, proud mouth slanted like a snake, glancing up from a book or scroll, he was both acidulous and fine.

And he was powerful. Good god above was he powerful, and as charismatic as he was evil. Building a solid ground of resources and allies everywhere he went, his reach was wide and his informants everywhere. There seemed to be no spell that he did not know, no skill he did not possess, no rock he left unturned, no puzzle he had not solved. His anger was as wrathful as the vengeful gods of old and his regal personality lead him to be addressed as 'lord' by his lovers, friends and followers.

They had only met a few times, with each instance separated by years, allowing tempers to burn out but allowed interest in the other to linger.

She thought about him a lot, turned the things he had said over and over in her head and churned them there until she understood yet detested the smooth, flawless workings of his logic path, finding his thinking as dangerously efficient of his power.

There was a lot there to despise... and even more to be wary of. They _did_ share a lot in common; they both admitted openly to despising both Dumbledore and the pseudo-politics that now ran the Ministry of Magic, but in the end of it all she found that she fit neatly under several categories of types of people he hated and would just love to destroy………… muggle–borns just like her.

Yet she kept on thinking about him; he was like a deep-rooted poison that stained her mind and seeped through more and more layers of protection from other people that she had set up. The further he spread, the further it reached to color the bias of her thoughts. It was like a brain tumor or a blossoming cancer.

Or a deeply rooted affection or love.

And she personally preferred the previous to the latter.

But the third one.... the third of the only three people she had deep affection for was the one who had most successfully squirreled his way through her thick shell that separated the differences between people she 'tolerated' or 'liked' to people she had 'fondness' for to... the people she adored. And finally; at the deepest, most innermost workings of her heart, to the people she loved. The third one she loved was the story of her own undoing.

James was her favorite mistake... but her most beloved.


	2. Train Platform

Lily Evans had never been on a train before. Well, that's what she was planning to tell her new friends at this "Hogwarts" school, at least.

The last time she was on one, she remembered, embarrassingly enough, holding tightly on to her mother's ungloved hands on a strange slab of concrete and yielding to the bustling crowd of workers. She had remembered feeling nervous. No familiar faces loomed in the corners of the crushing swarm; no friendly souls lurked in the shadows. And she had made sure she looked for anyone she might have known, too, since the flat stares of armies of working men carrying briefcases flowing ceaselessly by in torrents of suits and patent leather shoes had frightened her as much as the alien environment had, she remembered looking for comfort. Holding tight to her mothers ungloved hands... A strange instance in itself, since while they were certainly weren't well off, her mother had always liked to keep appearances that she was. A lady always wore gloves in public, she would say... even if her mother was the type of woman who would never be described as 'a lady' by other people. She might be called a prostitute, a whore or 'kept woman', or a 'home wrecker', maybe, but she had never been described as 'a lady'.

Mutely, patiently waiting for the salary men pass by on their way to work, her mother snug in her rich ruby fabrics and winking rhinestones, Lily had watched her mother's face as they pushed on further, deeper into the mess of working bourgeoisie on the train platform.

Lily's own clothing had betrayed her mother's carefully woven illusion of wealth, as did the paper bags that carried their (minimal) belongings did. A piece of twine was attached to the bags handles that then connected to their wrists to discourage the bags from "up and leaven'" as her mother had put it, or to keep away 'pickpockets' and 'common thieves' as anyone else would have put it, that was the last time she had been on a train platform. It was also the last time she had seen her mother.

Thinking back to that, she found her mother's term for keeping thieves away from their luggage rather funny given her study of magic. Later on, where she _had_ seen some wizarding families traveling on a train during her first year at Hogwarts, she had seen that they had kept a tight rein on their luggage, which actually _was_ trying to "up and leave" as her mother had put it so long ago, the hat boxes and bags trying to get away by scuttling off on clawed feet when their owners weren't looking.

But those wizarding families had looked quite affluent, given the huge clothing chests they packed along with the fancy clutches and other luggage paraphernalia they had brought with them, all of their packages bearing the families' crest. As if such a huge mess of matched luggage _could_ belong to anyone else.

She remembered wincing at her own luggage of choice at the time; her family couldn't afford the chest that the Hogwarts supply list demanded, so her parents had had to 'fake it' (as usual) to get her into that damn school. What they finally came up with was far better than what she was used to, especially if it's purpose was just to be able to hold her rubbish while traveling.

So when she hit the train's platform on the way to school, she had not been expected to carry a brown paper bag with all her clothes crammed in it and her books breaking out of the sides and still manage to be proud, for once of her life.

But her family had arranged a rare surprise for her this year, as it was very important to give the 'right impression' of who she was or was _supposed_ to be at her first year at that school. Instead of using the before-mentioned paper bags with string, she had been offered the chance to use her fathers old trunk, which was dusty and more than a bit worn at the edges from his days in the military. The other wizarding students waiting on the platform 9 and 3/4 to Hogwarts (dumb purebloods, of course) seemed to think of her old chest was sort of neat and exotic looking, when in reality all it was was an army green chest with stickers slapped onto it from all of the countries her father had visited while in the navy. The pureblood students (which were the clear majority of the students at Hogwarts these days, as there were only a few muggle born students here and there throughout the school) couldn't figure out what the duck tape on her school chest _was_. Thus, they supposed it was some sort of 'fashionable new look' for luggage, and thank god for that and their stupid, friendly ignorance.

Standing there in her homemade robes that her mother had cleverly put together to _look_ just like the Hogwarts School uniform, she felt oddly at ease. It was a strange sensation, and a real break from her usually troubled, nervous self indeed.

Perhaps it was because she was starting in a new school at the start of a new year.... and was actually looking like she _did_ actually attended the school now that she had a uniform. Her mother had made her a "home made" version of the standard Hogwarts robes from a bunch of dyed black material (worn socks, old sheets, parts of her cousins trousers, thread bare work shirts and washing rags) and had then carefully fitted them to Lily's measurements to look just like the school robes that they couldn't afford.

To the casual observer, she looked nice, pretty even, in her new robes, with her warm brown tan and rich, carrot red hair. No one _had_ to know that her 'exotic' looking luggage was in the process of falling apart and was barely being held together from the inside by an amass of duck tape that was slowly coming apart from the strain of using the old thing.

Now all she had to do, she had thought to herself, was to somehow keep all the other muggle – born students arriving on the platform from seeing her luggage. Surely _they_ would know the 'distinctive' combo-lock lock she kept on the front of her school chest was _really_ just an old gym locker lock that she had ripped from the local YMCA. Her favorite tombs of math and science were barely holding together and her schoolbooks were the cheapest she could find (which she later dressed-up to look passable) and her luggage of choice was a shoddy old military trunk. All that it _really_ was was a desperate attempt by her parents to get Lily accepted into that school. Really, it was her family's only chance at having a witch in the family, and pride be damned if they missed the shot.

Her foster mother had already warned her to avoid using the public showers and to use the W. C. instead, so that no one would have the chance to see her scars. She also wore her father's old combat boots from the war, which had been completely remade by a shoe repairman who had owed her father a favor for the numbers he played. She kept them flawlessly polished, to keep the illusion they were still new (if a bit worn), though they were really far older than she was. But glancing down at them again as the train platform filled with more and more people, she realized that they didn't _look_ that old…. They were just leather boots, and were even acceptable for the Hotwarts school uniform. It was a practical miricle in itself.

She was not sure how she would ever keep her classmates from stumbling upon her horrendous secret; her poverty. She was worried enough that the way she _talked_ would alert everyone of who she _really_ was. Of what _kind_ of person she was, and how she grew up.... She was worried sick over the prospect that the other kids in this school that were all supposed to be 'of her type' would begin to think of her as the rest of her old classmates did; as a freak.

Perhaps she had done all of these adjustments to her appearance out of nervous energy. Perhaps it was all just out of fear of being 'found out'. The carefully woven persona she had chosen to present to the classmates of her new school shouted that she was friendly and witty, a proud muggle-born witch, and a consciencous student and perhaps even…. A good friend.

This was all true, but she had decided that she wouldn't include any more of herself in her new personality than the above. Her past was one that didn't really contain the notion of "a happy childhood" as more 'normal' children seemed to experience, but instead was a life of growing up grounded in the grim reality of the world around her. That she was a freak, an outcast. A witch.

While she was more skittish and shy then the rest of her boisterous classmates, making her alone and frightened in a crowd of playing children. But no one at her new school had to know that she had never had a friend before because she was _strange_, or had to know that while her new parents were proud as punch about her going off to school to learn magic, they were more than a bit frightened of her accidental magic that they had carefully chose to ignore.....

Standing alone on the crowded train platform, she worked her tongue around in her mouth, trying a last-minute attempt to say the "correct" things that would somehow hide the fact that she was terminally shy and woefully inadequate in social situations. Glancing around at the other Hogwarts students that were gathering on the around her on the train platform, she wondered what they were like; what their interests and hobbies were, what they liked to talk about. Meanwhile, she was fighting a losing battle to keep back the waves of her anxiety. She was hoping against hope that she wouldn't say or do something stupid that would botch the whole thing up.

She did not know how the school year at this place would go... and the most unreassuring prospect of it all was that time would only tell. She hated not having any idea of what was going to happen to her once she was inside this "school of magic". But she hoped that this 'Pig Pimple' place would prove to be better than the old school and world she had left behind.


End file.
